Domesticated
by The Talentless Hack
Summary: AU, SaitouTokio. You can take the wolf out of the wild, but you can't take the wild out of the wolf...or can you? A collection of shorts examining that question. No timeline. Rated K through T.
1. Isn't It Romantic

_Isn't It Romantic?_

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**Rating:** K

**Summary:** "Isn't it romantic? Music in the night: a dream that can be heard. Isn't it romantic? Moving shadows write the oldest magic words." An interlude between the Wolf and the object of his affections. There should really be a fluff option….

**Notes:** There is no live Christmas tree market in Japan (they only sell the fake kind), and the custom of putting a Christmas tree in private homes is a fairly recent one; in the past, Christmas trees were put up in businesses, not homes.

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Saitou was tired.

The day had been long and trying on his nerves, and he decided that as nice as overtime was when he got his paycheck, it wasn't something he wanted to make a habit of.

He'd come through the door, dropped his coat and bag in the entry, taken off his shoes, locked the door, then dragged his sorry hide to the couch and slumped down, to stare in vacant weariness at the tree Eiji and Tokio had decorated two days ago. His jobs had included setting the thing up in the stand (which was harder than it sounded) and stringing the lights. Mother and son had taken care of the rest, and he'd been content to watch. When it came time to top the tree, Eiji had insisted on his help, so he'd dutifully hefted the boy up onto his shoulders and held him steady while the seven-year-old leaned over and put the star up just so, because this was apparently the most important part.

Saitou didn't really see the point of a Christmas tree—it sounded like the behavior of a drunk, frankly, cutting down a tree and bringing it into the house to decorate it, and he figured it made sense that it was an English custom, those drunkards—but he supposed it looked pretty. There was something really nice about the muted glow the tree lights bathed the living room in.

"Hey," came the whispered greeting from the doorway, and he looked over to find Tokio watching him with a smile.

"Hey," he replied quietly, also smiling a little.

"Hungry?" she asked, padding into the room.

"Tired," he said as she sank down next to him.

She kissed his cheek, then laid her head against his shoulder; he slipped his arm around her, and they sat there silently for a long time, watching the tree. It took a few moments, but he eventually made out odd sounds, and after pondering and listening carefully, he realized she was playing one of his jazz CDs. He smirked when he figured it out—when they'd first met, she hadn't liked the music, but seven years of exposure had worn her down, apparently. He decided to keep quiet about it, though: this was progress, more than he'd ever thought he would see, and saying anything might cancel it out.

"So exactly what did you make for dinner?" he asked at long last, and she chuckled.

"Soba," she said, and he grinned.

"How ever did you know, my dear?" he asked, rubbing a hand up and down her arm.

"You're predictable, darling," she drawled.

He sent her an affronted look that had her laughing quietly and leaning up to kiss him.

"It's a good thing," she assured. "You're like an old, well-worn shirt."

"Oh yeah, that's what I want to hear—'Hey babe, you're like a shirt.' Nice one," he muttered.

"You know what I mean, you big baby," she said, bumping his shoulder with her own.

And he did, honestly—it was the same with her, though he knew she'd take it a lot worse than he had.

Women never entirely understood the full extent of affection behind being compared to a guy's favorite article of clothing, though Tokio had a better grasp than most.

"Come on," she said, slipping her hand into his and tugging lightly. "I've got it ready for you in the kitchen."

He sighed, but allowed her to tug him off the couch. And as he was rising, he made another realization: she hadn't been listening to the CD, she'd been listening to a particular song. He grinned when he made out which song.

"What's so funny?" she asked, cocking her head and eyeing him curiously.

"'Isn't It Romantic'?" he asked, and she looked torn between embarrassment at having been caught and shock that he'd heard it.

"How do you _do_ that?" she asked finally, settling on the latter.

"Just got good ears, is all," he replied with a shrug, tugging her closer. "Why that one?"

She sent him a flat look, and his grin widened.

"Why that one?" he repeated.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I just like it."

"You have good taste," he remarked, then leaned over to say, grinning, into her ear, "Which is why you're with me, of course."

"Oh be quiet," she muttered, taking a step back.

He tugged her back to him and pressed the knuckles of the hand he held to his lips.

"Wanna dance?" he asked, and she stared at him in shock.

"You never dance," she said after a moment. "_Ever_."

"Right music's gotta be on," he said, shaking his head. "There's a mood needs to be set."

"You were born in the wrong era," she said with a sigh, but she was smiling a little.

"Possibly," he agreed. "Do you?"

"Oh I wouldn't dream of missing out on this once in a lifetime spectacle," she said.

"I'll have you know I put Fred Astaire to shame," he said, adjusting his grip on her hand and settling his other hand at her waist.

"Sure, I bet they call you 'Bojangles'," she murmured, rolling her eyes, smile still on her face.

"Feh, no respect," he said as they began to lazily waltz around the room.

There was a part of him that felt incredibly moronic doing this. But there was another part of him, the part of him that lived to make Tokio happy, that told the other part to stuff it. Because she had her head on his shoulder and her eyes were closed and she was smiling, and that more than made up for feeling a little foolish.

"What about your soba?" she asked quietly.

"It'll still be there," he replied.

"It'll be cold."

"Then I'll heat it up."

"Hm."

He grinned faintly and dropped a kiss to her temple, and then it was just them and the Christmas tree casting a warm glow over them, horns softly accompanying Tony Bennett's voice as it wound around them.

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_Isn't it romance? _


	2. A Little Christmas Miracle

_A Little Christmas Miracle_

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**Rating:** T, for Saitou's mouth—he doesn't do surprises very well, poor thing.

**Summary:** It took ten years to get this far in their relationship…and exactly ten seconds of inattention for him to screw it up. Bravo, Saitou, bravo.

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Saitou Hajime didn't think of himself as an especially calm individual. He wasn't high-strung, but he wasn't what you'd call placid either. If he had to describe himself, he'd have said he was, most of the time, quietly malicious.

This was not one of those times.

"Did you find it?" he asked, something suspiciously like panic holding his system hostage.

"Sorry dude," his friend, Okita Souji, replied, holding up his very empty hands to drive that fact home.

"Did you even look?" Saitou snapped. "You were in there for all of five seconds!"

"You keep everything all orderly and crap," Okita tossed back, annoyed at being snapped at. "All I hadda do was look."

"You didn't even move shit around? What the hell, Souji! How is that looking for something?!"

"Aw go to hell! I get yelled at when I move your crap out of where you put it, _and_ I get yelled at for not moving it? Make up your mind, jerk-off!"

Saitou made a rude gesture and went back to rooting through the pockets of the coats hanging in the hall closet, hoping it had appeared even though he'd checked the coat pockets already and knew for a fact that there was no little blue velvet box in any of them.

He still couldn't believe he'd lost the fucking ring. He'd been saving up for it for a year now, and he'd finally bought it three weeks ago, and now he'd lost it. He was still paying for it _and he'd lost Tokio's engagement ring_.

He kept waiting to wake up from this nightmare, except it wasn't happening, and two hours after making the horrifying discovery, he was beginning to think that maybe it wasn't a nightmare—at least, not one he could wake up from.

"Dad?"

He whipped around at the sound of Eiji's voice.

"Did you find it?" he asked immediately.

The boy raised his eyebrows in a very uncomforting manner.

"No," he admitted, and Saitou hung his head and groaned.

"Where _the hell_ did I put it?" he asked a little desperately.

"Did you check you pockets?" Eiji suggested, coming to his side to pat the right front pocket of Saitou's jeans. "Mom's always saying you forget to empty out your pockets when she does the laundry."

"It's not in my pockets," Saitou assured, resting a heavy hand on the boy's head. "What time is it?"

"Five forty-three," Eiji replied, looking up at him, and Saitou winced.

"Shit," he muttered, "she'll be home soon."

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we still gonna have Christmas dinner even though your present for Mom is lost?"

"Yeah," he said.

Eiji frowned.

"But you won't have anything to give her later."

"Don't worry about it."

"But—"

"Don't worry about it," Saitou repeated, messing up the boy's hair worse. "Go check our room again for me, okay? Look under the bed—did you look under the bed already?"

Eiji nodded, and Saitou sighed.

"I'll look again, though," Eiji offered, and Saitou rubbed the top of the boy's head.

"All right, look again."

The ten-year-old nodded, then tore off for the room, and Saitou watched him go with a despondent look on his face.

"I can't believe I lost the fucking ring," he said to no one in particular.

"Me neither," Okita volunteered suddenly. "That's not like you at all, man."

Saitou sighed again and scratched the back of his head.

"Yeah," he said finally.

There was a pause, and then Okita said,

"Think maybe the cat ate it?"

Saitou looked over at his friend in a manner best described as incredulous.

"What are you, retarded?" he asked. "How the _fuck_ did the cat eat a fucking jewelry box?"

"It was a ring box, those are small," Okita pointed out.

"Not that small, you dingbat. Cats aren't like dogs, they don't chew up anything they find. I could understand the ring, maybe, but not the box."

"Well, maybe it did eat the ring," Okita suggested.

"Then I'd have at least found the box by now, ahou."

"Well I don't see you coming up with possible explanations," was his friend's offended reply.

"How about I lost the fucking thing?" Saitou snapped, then let out an exasperated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

And then, at that precise moment, he heard the lock in the front door turn.

"Shit," he mumbled.

The door swung open, and Tokio stepped in, wrapped up in her coat and scarf, a big paper bag in one hand, her other holding onto her purse strap and keys. Upon seeing him in the entry, she stopped, startled.

"Hajime!" she said, smiling in bemused surprise.

He smiled for her benefit:

"Hey," he greeted.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I live here," he replied patiently, and she sent him a flat look.

"I meant in the entry, you goofball."

"Waiting to escort you to dinner, of course," he said after a pause, deciding that was a good cover story.

"Oh!" She smiled, looking extremely pleased by that news. "You even have the closet open for my coat."

"I aim to please," he agreed with a nod.

Her smile widened.

"You're too sweet."

He smiled in return; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Okita gag.

He went forward to take the bag from her and kiss her hello. He then shut the door, slid the bag into the closet, then turned back to her to help her out of her coat. She then noticed Okita and smiled.

"Hello Souji," she said. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Oh, you know how it is," Okita said with a shit-eating grin, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. "You get so caught up in work and then one day you realize you haven't seen your best friend or his lovely better half for three weeks."

"You work too hard," she chided, smiling. She went over to the closet, rooted through the bag on the floor, and then produced a present. "Here—Merry Christmas."

Okita looked as startled by the gesture as Tokio had been to find Saitou in the entry.

"I—oh wow, Tokio," he said with a sheepish laugh, one of his hands going up to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment. "You know you don't have to get me anything."

"And you should know by now that I don't mind," Tokio replied, wagging the gift at him. "Take it. Please."

Okita shuffled over like an overgrown kid and took the gift from Tokio, blushing dull pink and smiling in equal parts pleasure and embarrassment; Saitou watched with a smirk and tucked this away to use as blackmail the next time Okita started getting on his nerves.

"Thank you," his friend said quietly.

"You're welcome," Tokio cheerfully said, and then, as was her custom, threw her arms around him to give him one of her infamous hugs.

The blush grew darker, and Saitou bit back a laugh; his oldest friend was horrifically shy with women, which was the only reason he was still a bachelor. It had taken _years_ for him to get comfortable with Tokio, and even now, the minute she got into his personal space he went into apoplectics—Saitou thought it was hilarious.

She released him after a moment, then patted his arm.

"Are you going to stay for dinner?" she asked. "You're more than welcome to."

"I—that is—I—I mean I—"

Saitou took pity on his friend (actually, he just wanted to get things moving; if he didn't step in, they'd be here all night):

"He can't, he's headed for his sister's."

"Oh. Well tell her we said hello and Merry Christmas, all right?"

Okita nodded, mouth clamped shut—he apparently didn't trust himself not to stutter like a fool again if he tried to speak.

Okita took his leave, and by the time he walked out the door he'd recovered enough that coherent speech was possible, and he was able to actually say goodbye.

"He's fun to tease," Tokio said once the door was closed and Okita was on his way to the train station.

Saitou laughed and put an arm around her and kissed her.

"You're an evil woman, my pet," he said against her forehead.

"You love it," she said smugly, snuggling into his chest, and he chuckled and gave her a squeeze.

"And how," he agreed.

"Where's Eiji-chan?" she asked.

"Here," Eiji said, bounding into the room. "Hi Mom."

"Hi baby," she said, grinning, and leaned over to hug him. "How was your day?"

"Pretty good," Eiji replied, returning her hug. "I helped Dad."

"Did you? Well well well—my boys have been industrious today, haven't they?" she asked, amused, as she ruffled his hair.

He grinned up at her, then took her hand. Then he looked over at Saitou.

"Now?" he asked.

"Yeah," Saitou said with a nod, his hand on the small of Tokio's back.

"Cool—come on Mom, we'll take you to dinner."

"Absolutely," Tokio said, smiling, and allowed herself to be led/guided to the dining room.

He waited until Tokio wasn't paying attention to ask Eiji if his search had turned anything up:

_Did you find it?_ he mouthed to the boy.

Eiji shook his head, looking apologetic.

_Sorry Dad_, he mouthed back

_Fuck_, Saitou thought.

Dinner was, nevertheless, pretty good. Tokio was duly impressed by the effort they'd gone through to put it together.

"You both did an excellent job," she informed them, smiling. "Maybe I should let you two talk me into letting you do Christmas dinner next year too, hmm?"

She was teasing them, which he realized. She had no idea that the whole reason they'd insisted on doing it this year was because Saitou had bought a ring and was going to propose later on in the evening.

Afterwards, they retired to the living room, and each of them chose one gift, "at random," from the small pile under the tree for the others to open. The plan had been for her to get the ring as her "random" gift, but since he'd lost it, that was out. So instead, Saitou let Eiji give her the pearl earring and necklace set that he'd picked out three weeks ago, the same day that Saitou had gotten the ring. She loved it and immediately put them on, much to Eiji's pleasure, and Saitou smiled faintly and observed that Eiji had remarkably good taste for a ten-year-old. He was given a silver cigarette case, which he _really_ liked—his cigarettes were, despite his care, always getting beaten up and smashed, and his last cigarette was usually so horribly maimed that it was un-smoke-able.

And Eiji nearly had a seizure when he got his gift—a new soccer ball.

"No playing in the house, young man," Tokio warned.

"Can we go outside Dad, can we, please please please please please please please please—"

"All right, _all right_!" Saitou said. "Gods above, boy."

"Hurry," Eiji ordered, tearing out of the living room towards the front door.

"Knew that was a mistake," Saitou said with a sigh as he rose.

Tokio smiled and rose with him, looping her arm through his.

"Oh stop—it was your idea, remember?"

"He happens to play very well," Saitou said mildly as they followed in the boy's wake. "I was just saying it was a mistake to give it to him now—he's going to want to spend the rest of the night out there."

"Ah." Pause. "I'd put on my coat, then, if I were you."

"Very funny, you."

They didn't spend the rest of the night out in the yard, but it was rather late when Eiji was finally convinced into going inside to go to bed. It was mostly the warning that Santa would pass him by that did it, and at eleven, once assured that Eiji was dead asleep, they set out the rest of the gifts, from "Santa." Saitou then sent Tokio to bed, telling her he'd lock up and shut off the lights, as he wanted to take that opportunity to look for the ring, one more time. She acquiesced easily enough, and as soon as he heard the shower go on, he began to quickly and methodically search for the box. Twenty minutes later, Tokio had been out of the shower five minutes, and he hadn't found diddly. So he gave up, and decided he'd look again tomorrow, and when he found it, he'd just keep it until New Year's.

He didn't even want to think about what he'd do if he never found it, or he'd become ill.

When he got to the room, he found Tokio sitting on the bed in her nightshirt, smiling at him. He paused in the doorway, surprised by this development.

"What?" he asked.

She held up a hand…and lo and behold, there in the palm of her hand sat that miserable little blue velvet box that had driven him crazy all evening.

He didn't know whether to laugh or to beat his head against the door until he gave himself a concussion.

He almost asked where she'd found it, but he wasn't about to admit, however obliquely, that he'd lost her ring. So, instead, he asked,

"Didja open it?"

She slowly nodded. He also nodded, then stepped into the room, shut the door, and walked to the bed. He sat down with a sigh, took the little box from her and opened it, then inspected the ring, white gold with a small diamond solitaire. Then, he looked up at her and turned his wrist to present the ring to her.

"I thought you didn't mind just living together," she said.

He shrugged, starting to get nervous.

"I might have lied a little," he admitted and she smiled.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Her gaze went back to the ring, and she plucked it out of the box with her thumb and forefinger, and examined it while he watched her in silence. She then took hold of his other hand and placed the ring in it, and his heart plummeted into his stomach…until she murmured,

"Well aren't you going to put it on my finger, silly man?"

He stared at her in surprise, then grinned.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, beaming.

He did as she'd said, and then they both eyed her finger.

"Looks good on you," he said at long last.

"Absolutely," she agreed quietly. She looked up at him, then wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"So," she said, laying her head on his shoulder, "I was thinking of a June wedding."

"Whatever you want, babe," he said, sliding an arm around her and falling back on the bed.

She poked him.

"Hey, I expect some help from you, buddy," she said. "Seriously, what do you think? This is important."

"Not really—the actual important part's done," he said, looking down at her with a grin. "You said yes, after all."

She eyed him for a moment, then slowly smiled and leaned up and kissed his cheek.

"I can still change my mind, you know," she murmured into his ear, and he paused.

"June 25th sound good to you?" he asked after a moment, and she smirked.

"Very wise, sweetheart," she cooed, patting his cheek.

"I try to be, dearest," he said dryly, and she laughed and snuggled into his side.

"Merry Christmas, goofball," she murmured, kissing his chest.

"Merry Christmas babe," he replied, running a hand up and down her back.

It was quiet for a moment, and then Tokio asked,

"Hajime?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you hide the box behind my pillow?"

_Oh son of a…the __**pillow**__? Oh fuck me_, he thought, mentally slapping himself on the forehead.

"I'm trying out for the Tooth Fairy's gig?" he tried, and she burst out laughing.

"You're ridiculous," she said, still laughing at him. "Knowing you, you couldn't find a better spot to hide it in."

That was a cheap shot, but he wasn't about to admit that the box's placement had been an accident, a result of his frantically trying to hide it from her that morning when she'd surprised him just as he'd been checking to make sure all was in place and the ring was fine.

"Hey, I try," he muttered, and she laughed and kissed him again.

"I know, and it's very sweet, Hajime. I wouldn't have you any other way than hopeless but adorable."

"I am _not_ adorable," he grumbled, vaguely offended.

"But you _are_ hopeless?" she pressed, and he sent her a sour look.

"If you can change your mind I can change mine too," he warned, and she grinned.

"Baby," she chided.

"Feh," was all he had to say about it.


	3. What's in a Name?

_What's in a Name?_

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**Rating:** K…for the KILLER FLUFF.

**Summary:** If a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, would a daddy by any other name be just as much of a daddy?

**Notes:** As tradition dictates, here be my Daddy Day offering. For all the Daddies out there.

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It was Sunday, which meant it was a lazy day.

Or it would have been, if there weren't bills to pay, which was what Saitou was doing at the kitchen table.

Eiji was also at the table, sitting on a couple of thick books so he could see over the top, his crayons littered over his end of the table (in amusing caricature of the mess of paper scattered over Saitou's side) while he diligently colored in his coloring book. Tokio had stepped out to get lunch, so it was just the two of them.

"Daddy?" Eiji squeaked.

"What-y?" Saitou returned absently, without looking up.

The boy giggled, then asked,

"How come my name's not like yours?"

It took a second for the question to process, and when it did he looked up at the boy to find him watching him as patiently as a six-year-old boy was capable of.

Which is to say, not very patiently at all.

"Huh?" was Saitou's enlightened reply to the question, and Eiji looked exasperated.

"_Da-ddy_," he whined.

"Whaddaya mean why is my name different from yours?" Saitou asked.

"'Cause it is," Eiji said. "Me an' Mommy gots the same name, but you don't. How come?"

Saitou resisted the urge to correct the boy's atrocious grammar in favor of figuring out how to answer the question as honestly as possible without confusing the boy and/or giving him more information than he was ready for.

"How do you know it's different from yours?" he asked, a little curious as to how the boy had come by this discovery—he hadn't realized Eiji's reading skills were so advanced.

"'Cause people don't call you the same name as they call me an' Mommy." he replied.

Ah. Okay, that made more sense.

He really had no idea how to explain this to Eiji. It was something that had occurred to him a few times over the years, and he hadn't really seriously considered it until the boy had started school, but in the end he hadn't been exactly bothered by it. It was a little annoying when, the few times that he'd arrived at the school office to pick Eiji up early, he had been subjected to a longer wait than other parents while someone called Tokio and made sure he was okay to pick up her son. Tokio had fixed that by personally going to the office not too long ago to put his name down on the list of people approved to pick Eiji up. And it was slightly irritating when people gave him odd looks when he was introduced as Eiji's father, who had a different family name than both his supposed son and his supposed son's mother, but he shrugged it off in the end. It was still pretty rare for a couple who lived together to have a kid out of wedlock, as most people immediately got married upon finding out they were going to have a kid, and if it did happen, the kid usually had the father's name, so he understood why people thought it was weird (it was still irritating, though—understanding did not necessarily guarantee immediate absolution).

Then again, they didn't know that Eiji wasn't actually his kid, that he'd met Tokio when she had been six months pregnant and newly divorced, and that neither her divorced status nor her impending motherhood had bothered him in the least. He was divorced himself, so that hadn't been an issue, and as to her pregnancy…he'd been smitten enough with her that it hadn't been an issue. It had taken a year and a half before they'd moved in together, and by then Saitou had begun thinking of both mother and son as his. He'd been there for the kid's birth, he'd been there for most of the really big baby milestones and he'd spent countless hours with the boy, all of which he supposed entitled him to a certain possessiveness. The boy's biological father was completely absent from Eiji and Tokio's life, outside of the monthly child support checks that came to the house from Hawaii. Eiji had no idea who "Suzumiya Toshirou" was, but he knew exactly who Saitou Hajime was—his daddy. Maybe not by blood, but where it counted.

"Daddy?" Eiji prompted.

"Right," Saitou said, setting his pen down and sitting back in his seat. "Okay. So. My name's different from yours because…because…that's what Mommy decided when you were born."

"Why?" Eiji asked, cocking his head curiously.

"Well, Mommy didn't know if I was going to stay around."

"Why?"

"Because sometimes Mommy's silly like that," Saitou dryly replied, remembering that one of the first fights they'd gotten into was over Tokio's insistence that he was going to leave sooner or later, because no man wanted a kid that wasn't his blood.

"Did you want us, Daddy?" Eiji asked, sounding more intrigued than upset by the thought.

Saitou raised an eyebrow, then leaned forward to ruffle the boy's hair affectionately.

"Seems you're just as silly as Mommy, Eiji-chan," he said while Eiji giggled and tried to swat his hand away. "I like you guys."

"And you'll stay with us forever and ever?" Eiji asked, both hands wrapped around his wrist, trying vainly to tug his much larger hand off.

"Right," Saitou said, giving in and allowing Eiji to tug his hand off of the boy's head.

Instead of letting go of his hand, Eiji decided he wanted to trace it on one of the pages of his coloring book in purple crayon; Saitou held his peace and allowed it.

"Daddy?" Eiji asked while carefully tracing.

"Yeah?"

"I'll get big like you, right?"

Saitou doubted it; he'd seen Tokio and Suzumiya's wedding photo, and the guy was just a few inches taller than Tokio, who was exactly five feet. Saitou, at well over six feet, _towered_ over her. Then again, her brother was unusually tall, so you never knew.

"Sure," he replied, deciding to go with the more positive outlook.

"Will we have the same name then, too?" Eiji asked.

"Eiji, that's not how names work," Saitou replied.

"It's not?" the boy asked, looking up, expression crestfallen.

"No," Saitou said.

He hadn't thought it was possible for the boy to get any more disappointed, but he'd been wrong, and the result actually made his heart jerk a little.

"And anyway, it doesn't really matter," he quickly said when the child's eyes started watering.

"It doesn't?" Eiji asked, voice tremulous.

"No," Saitou assured. "It's not even really important."

"But all the other kids in my class have the same name as their daddies." Eiji pointed out, rubbing a little fist against his left eye.

He was at a loss for a moment, then asked,

"Eiji-chan, I'm your daddy, right?"

Eiji nodded.

"And you know that, right?"

Eiji nodded again.

"Then that's all that's important," Saitou concluded. "Names are just names—what matters is who you are, not whose name you've got. So what if you don't have the same name as me—I'm still your daddy, and you're still my boy, okay?"

Eiji nodded, then clambered down from his seat to got over to Saitou and hug him about the waist. Saitou, in turn, reached down and picked him up to give him a proper hug, then used his thumbs to wipe the tears away.

"All right then—no crying. My boy doesn't cry, right?"

"Right," Eiji cheerfully agreed with a sniffle.

"Go wash your face," Saitou said, ruffling his hair again, then setting him down.

"Okay," he said, and scampered off to do so.

Saitou sighed and scratched the back of his head, then went back to the bills he'd abandoned. Eiji came back soon enough, but rather than return to his former station, he came to Saitou's side, tugged on his shirt and asked, once he had Saitou's attention,

"Daddy, could I sit in your lap to color, please?"

And he knew it was going to be very uncomfortable and awkward to try to work around a coloring book and crayons, and that the odds of getting anything worthwhile done were less than zero.

But he also knew that Eiji thought he hung the moon, and paying bills in comfort really paled in comparison.

So, like the sap he was, he scooted his chair back, giving his silent permission, and the boy scrambled up into his lap. Saitou reached over and collected the coloring book and crayons, and set the boy up, and went back to his task.

And if there were crayons scattered all over his bills, well, that was okay—they looked much more festive than usual, and he could almost talk himself into thinking this was vaguely fun.

And if some of these payments went back with a rainbow of stray crayon marks on them, well, that was okay too—a little color never hurt anyone.


End file.
